


Time Devourer

by Memento_mori_Requiescat_in_pace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Harry & Draco go back in time, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fourth Year, M/M, Redemption, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Turner (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memento_mori_Requiescat_in_pace/pseuds/Memento_mori_Requiescat_in_pace
Summary: As the chilled air of dawn grew heavy with humidity to the point of asphyxiation, his old dormmate and occasional fellow lamenter Nott had asked, “Do you believe in second chances?”
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy (past), Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	1. Great Nott!

**Author's Note:**

> That title is a work in progress, but oh well (╯▅╰). Please enjoy!

As the chilled air of dawn grew heavy with humidity to the point of asphyxiation, his old dormmate and occasional fellow lamenter Nott had asked, “Do you believe in second chances?”

Draco could only rest his elbows on the balustrade of his balcony and exhale a fleeting breath of cold and damp. Mornings like these with such an oppressive atmosphere brought back memories of times when not even his childhood home was safe from living nightmares. One side glimpse at Nott’s determined posture had told him that his query was to be taken seriously.

Curling his hand around stone as some form of anchor to reality, Draco frowned in consideration. Images of Aunt Bella and the Dark Lor—and Voldemort sprung freely to the forefront of his mind, not so much as definitive moments in time, but more like a sinister phantom whispering into the shell of his ear and clutching at the tatters of his soul. He clenched his teeth. Those people who had caused _so_ much pain and death with every fiber of their being, sometimes Draco couldn’t help but envision a world where they died young or were never born at all. Giving them the opportunity of redeeming themselves was laughable.

Somehow, he imagined Nott would be disappointed with such a black-and-white answer, and Draco couldn’t help but think of all the people who wouldn’t give him the time of day, let alone the chance to get on their good side. Which begged the question, did Draco deserve a second chance?

He never considered himself a good person, at least, not after he was assigned the task of assassinating Dumbledore. The grasp of guilt ate at his conscience as he thought of how he had almost killed Katie Bell and (damn him for admitting it) Ronald Weasley in the pursuit of his goal, and those were only the near fatal injuries that he had caused directly. During that time, he wasn’t thinking in terms of morality because his family’s lives were on the line. Failure would mean death. Draco chuckled darkly; the mere mention of murder had him doubling over with nausea. If it weren’t for that one flaw as he stood atop the astronomy tower, would he have fulfilled the plans as intended? Draco rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes with the futility of reopening old scars.

He finally glanced at Nott who patiently stood with his hands in the pockets of his hooded cloak—the one he wore to obscure his notorious countenance in public. While no one would be able to trace Nott’s visit to Malfoy Manor as it was completely off the books, Draco still appreciated the attempt at discretion.

Sighing as he folded his arms to dispel some of the morning’s icy grip, Draco said, “I suppose some people do… the good ones.”

There was a glint of knowing mischief in Nott’s eye, “Don’t think you’re good, Malfoy?”

Draco snorted, “We all can’t be paradigms of light like _you_.”

They shared a smirk almost as bright as the smiles before the war. Nott was anything _but_ the epitome of righteousness as he cavorted across the globe as an auctioneer and thief of dark artifacts and other illegal paraphernalia. It just so happened that Draco was a collector of sorts, having had the bizarre hobby passed down from his father—the _only_ Malfoy tradition that hadn’t been shattered by hindsight. Draco justified his purchases as nothing more than clinical fascination. He left his amusements in charmed glass displays that contained their oozing malevolence, never to be used.

“Well, you have my undivided attention and my wallet,” he turned so that he could lean on the balustrade to face Nott, “What have you got hiding under that ridiculous dementor’s get-up that has you needling like a Gryffindor about to commit an act of self-sacrifice?”

Nott’s grin shone of greed even as he dismissed Draco’s half-hearted insult. “Behold, Draco, a most wonderous object that’s existence, up until a few days ago, had baffled even the brightest of the Unspeakables.”

In Nott’s calloused hand laid the unmistakable gold chain and hourglass of a Time-Turner. The runes intricately inscribed into its sides attested to its immeasurable power to transport a living being from one plane of time and existence into another. Draco grew dizzy with the stifling weight that settled onto his lungs, the endless possibilities that flashed before his eyes at the thought of changing his past mistakes had his fingers aching with pure desire and cursing himself for being tempted by such a cheap ploy.

He knew that the Time-Turner was limited in its capabilities and was simply dangerous beyond the travelling of a few hours, but it hadn’t kept his imagination from spiraling into thoughts of a different life without the hollow wash of pain and regret that ebbed at his waking sanity.

As his jumbled train of thought wheeled itself to a halt, Draco finally noticed a significant lack of sand in the hourglass. He scoffed in surprise, “Trying to pawn off your broken goods onto unsuspecting buyers? I didn’t take you for the type.”

Nott frowned as he let the Time-Turner dangle from his clutches, “Don’t confuse me for some street vendor on Knockturn Alley. You know my reputation precedes me, as well as the quality of my stock.”

Draco rolled his eyes, dismissing Nott with a wave of his hand, “Why don’t you finish your sales pitch and be one your way. Astoria will arrive in an hour for tea, and you know how she feels about our… _relationship_.” He slumped his back against the rail as disappointment would undoubtedly ruin his mood and what was supposed to be a romantic day with his betrothed.

Nott exhaled an irritated breath as he unceremoniously chucked the necklace at Draco. The bloody thing almost slipped from his grasp as he fumbled to get a hold of it. “You’re good at Latin, Draco, unless you somehow managed to have damaged your head even more than the last time I saw you.”

Draco released a bestial growl he didn’t know he had in him which only served to deepen Nott’s smirk. Nott played the role of sympathetic ally and shrewd salesman very closely with Draco never knowing when he would switch from one to the other.

“Go on and read then,” Nott said, leaning against the wall and surveying the meticulously kept lawns to give Draco some level of privacy with the weighty object that now lay flat in his palm.

It was unassuming in its appearance—he had never seen a Time-Turner in person before, but his father’s description of them matched the one he held aloft in his hand. He brushed his thumb over the exterior of the empty hourglass, which was unblemished with no cracks or missing pieces, so the sand couldn’t have gotten out that way. The only other plausible option was that someone had taken the whole thing apart and emptied it out manually. Turning it over, Draco translated the inscription of the Latin phrase on the top of the Time-Turner that Nott had so fondly been hounding him about.

_Tempus edax rerum_

**_Time, devourer of all things_ **

Draco furrowed his brow at such an ominous warning. It was certainly a cursed artifact, and now that the necklace had been in his hand for a few seconds, he could feel the gentle tendrils of possession caressing him as some dark magic was wont to do. Did using this Time-Turner devour time itself as the user progressed further into their past? The thought was absurd, going against all known laws and theories of time, but then again, there always seemed to be the rare exception when it came to anything magical.

Seeing as there was another phrase on the bottom and not wanting Nott to berate him for being a dullard, or worse yet… a squib, Draco translated the only other Latin words that he could find on the necklace without going through the lengths of searching for anything hidden by concealing spells or invisible ink.

_Astra inclinant, sed non obligant_

**_The stars incline us, they do not bind us_ **

Draco was surer of his inkling that someone had modified this Time-Turner, or at least tampered with it. The words themselves were an old Latin proverb that had something to do with free will overcoming fate, a statement that Draco found incongruent with his life choices.

Against his better judgement, Draco was interested in the secrets teeming beneath the Time-Turner’s innocent façade and would pay a small fortune to have it sequestered away in the hidden vault beneath the Manor, if only to idly gaze upon it and play with the impossibility of starting life anew without the burden of his haunting past.

Slytherin cunning took ahold of his mind, Nott was anything but merciful when deciding on a closing price, but even years after graduating from Hogwarts, Draco knew how to subtly manipulate his old dormmate into a better barter. It wasn’t as if Draco didn’t have twenty Gringotts vaults full to the brim with galleons and other precious stones to pay any named price; however, his days were spent mostly holed up in Malfoy Manor with only the occasional visit from Astoria, so, _realistically_ , squabbling with Nott over the price was the only entertainment he would have in the long drought of nothingness that would assuredly follow.

Coughing to get Nott’s attention, Draco dully said, “I assume you… _obtained_ this item from the Department of Mysteries.” Without even looking up, he could feel the hesitance seep into Nott as his frame stiffened ever so slightly. “An impressive feat, undoubtedly, but also not one without a high risk.”

Draco began to pace along the balcony as if he were coming to a sobering conclusion. “Not many people—well, your buyers, that is—have the kind of reputation that would allow them to undergo the scrutiny of the Ministry for possession of government property and come out of it the same as they had gone in, and let’s also not forget the means to hide said stolen goods.”

Nott’s gaze turned faintly murderous as Draco tried to hold down a grin. “If I took this broken Time-Turner off your hands,” Draco wistfully sighed and plucked an invisible hair from his immaculate suit, “Who’s to say that the Ministry won’t come breathing down my neck as our _business_ association is fairly well-known amongst those pesky aurors…”

Just as he was about to seal the deal with Nott, a loud bang echoed down one of the halls, the sound of splintering wood and metal hit the floor and reverberated in Draco’s ears as a burst of adrenaline had his heart flittering faster than a snitch.

He caught the widening horror of Nott’s eyes as his mouth opened in pure shock—an expression that Draco likely mirrored. There were only so many people who had the capability to invade Malfoy Manor without the wards going off in alarm, and none of them were the kinds of people that would take kindly to Draco harboring a well-known fugitive while making an illegal transaction. Nott had already come to this conclusion independently as he made haste to the nearest fireplace, no doubt he intended to floo away if the Manor hadn’t yet been cut off from the floo network.

In his bid to escape, Nott had left Draco in a culpable position, as the stolen Time-Turner glistened in the morning sun. The thundering noise of footsteps fell on the marble floor, intensifying as they spread out into the foyer until they would inevitably reach Draco’s position at the back of the house. Draco did not want to go to Azkaban.

The necklace burned his hand, and his mind was stuck on a singular mantra: _‘get rid of it.’_

In a reckless leap of faith, Draco catapulted himself over the balcony rail into the bushes below. Disregarding the pain in his shoulder, he fought through the branches, emerging rumpled from the other side. The telltale sound of combative magic exploded from behind him followed by a heavy thud. Nott was down.

With no time to spare for his fallen comrade, Draco ran blindly into the hedges with no plan, just to keep running. There were shouted orders that kept getting closer to him, and without much forethought, Draco slung the chain around his neck to free-up his wand hand.

The men…no, _aurors_ who were chasing after him with spells flying wild over his head didn’t know the layout of the Malfoy grounds as well as someone who had spent his whole life ambling through them, and Draco would take advantage of anything in his momentarily limited repertoire.

He dashed to the left through a small grotto and came out into a long row of hedges which he vaulted over. Giving himself a brief pause to catch his breath and study his surroundings, he noticed that the clamoring sound of voices was somewhere in the far-off distance and getting further away by the second. Releasing an anxious breath, Draco sank against the hedge in his crouched position. His reprieve would be short-lived, but he would take the time to formulate an escape route, plausible deniability could wait until after he had exonerated himself from the incriminating object around his throat.

Draco took the Time-Turner in hand as warmth began to pulsate from the gold and a strange luminance like the moon reflecting the sun emanated from the hourglass. The sight before him became strangely engrossing as sand, black as coal, began to snow down and fill the once empty glass.

Captivated by the magic before him, he completely missed the disheveled person who was currently aiming his wand at Draco’s temple.

“Malfoy, you have to take that thing off, _NOW!_ ”

The sharpness of those words rang clear in his mind, tearing his gaze away to stare into familiar green eyes. “Potter?” Draco whispered like the dying wind. What was he doing here of all places?

Something desperate flittered through Potter, his eye on the necklace in Draco’s hand. “Please, Malfoy,” he begged hoarsely, “We don’t know what that thing will do. You _have_ to take it off!”

Old habit made Draco want to stick out his tongue and have Potter fight him. However, maybe it was that Potter had pleaded with him (which he had never done before) or maybe it was the earnestness of his presence, but Draco listened to Potter, taking the chain into both of his hands to quickly discard the necklace.

The sound of footsteps neared them. “Oh good, you found him and the Time-Turner. Well done, Potter!” called a portly man whose face was red from exertion.

Draco snarled as he was now surrounded while Potter groaned at his colleague, giving Draco the opportunity to secure the necklace back into place. To think that Potter almost had him willingly giving himself up to the aurors; Draco was ashamed. Fortunately, their short interaction had cast some valuable insight onto the stolen Time-Turner. The aurors didn’t know what it did either, and they wouldn’t take the chance of slinging about spells when they could cause a magical catastrophe by even the slightest interference with the delicate power of time.

Wielding the hourglass as a weapon, Draco backed himself against the hedge. Potter to his right and the team of aurors to his left. He was, in the truest sense, at a dead end.

Exhaustion overtook Potter’s face as he attempted to negotiate, “Malfoy, that Turner is dangerous. I wasn’t kidding when I told you to take it off.”

Draco wasn’t joking either. He couldn’t be arrested, bringing the Malfoy name lower than it already was. Besides, he’d lose what remained of his mind if he went to Azkaban.

It was pure stupidity, but a dash of inspiration had alighted itself in the back of his mind. He didn’t even know if it would work, but he began spinning the Time-Turner. If he could just go back an hour or two…then he could stop himself from inviting Nott over. Bloody hell, he’d knock himself unconscious just so he wouldn’t take the accursed object.

To his chagrin, Potter wasn’t as beholden to his escape plans as the rest of his team had resigned themselves to be. In fact, Potter was making a tackling sprint towards Draco’s torso as he shouted, “ _NOOO!”_

The grass in front of him began to warp as he tried to dodge Potter’s outstretched arms, but not even the slowing of time could prevent the collision of the two of them.

Hands made to grab the chain as a knee to Draco’s stomach had him gasping for air, but just as quickly, Draco was fending off Potter’s assault.

Gripping the chain so hard that he likely drew blood from his hands, Draco looked back into Potter’s face which had become wavy and distorted. Everything fell to pitch black and Draco could no longer see his hands or feel the wrath of Potter’s attack.

His sense of direction was lost as he felt like he was falling into an endless hole that stole his breath with every aborted effort at a yell or cry. He was going too fast, and wherever he landed would surely kill him on impact.

Assured of his terrible fate, he closed his eyes, balling himself up as tight as his body would let him.

After what felt like hours, flickering white light sprouted around him and his falling slowed to a comprehensible velocity. Thinking that he was at the end of whatever horrendous nightmare he had entered, Draco calmed himself and prepared to be spit out somewhere in time, hopefully still alive.

The light slowly spiraled around him like a cocoon. The sensation reminded him of slipping into a warm bath, but this was only a rouse that he realized too late.

His legs had been the first to be bundled, but like a flash of lightning, they blinked out of existence.

He was helpless to impede the process as his hands feebly struggled to unwrap his chest, seeming to only expediate the light as it wound its way around his arms.

Binding his mouth, Draco tried one last futile sob for help, his body returning to a state of nothingness.


	2. Captain of a Sinking Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven't changed the title. I appreciate all the feedback I've gotten, and you guys are great! (ノ・∀・)ノ

Antiseptic stench and unflinching sunlight perforated the room, evoking memories of bandages and restless nights.

Swaddled in cotton sheets, his body ached like he had been stomped on by a herd of centaurs, and his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. The gradual opening of his eyes to reveal the world around him resulted in a splitting migraine, causing Draco to curl in on himself to curtail the pain that rolled over him in waves.

A voice wavered in the distance, but to Draco it sounded like a garbled murmur with the blood pressure pounding behind his eyes. Hands jostled him into a sitting position, a cool, soothing palm on the back of his neck righted his head as the thick lip of a glass bottle was pressed to his mouth.

Swallowing more on instinct than of his own volition, a sticky peppermint liquid slide down his throat, and within a few seconds, the thrumming of his skull had subsided to a manageable, if irritating, ache. Finally, able to open his eyes, Draco surveyed the sweeping stone arches that held the roof aloft and the familiar cots that lined the walls of the Hogwarts infirmary.

A small whisper in the back of his head told him that he shouldn’t be here, but Madam Pomfrey tutted as she gave Draco a thorough medical examination.

Becoming fed up with her invasive search and his increasing frustration at the fog in his head, Draco snapped, knocking Pomfrey’s metal tool out of his face. The pointed glare he had received in turn wilted a sliver of his rage, but he stood steadfast in his resolution to be alone even as she said, “I'm afraid you’ll still have to spend the night in here for observation, my dear. If any of your symptoms worsen, call for me immediately.”

Her heels clacked on the cobble floor as she turned and walked away.

His malaise from earlier kicked in again, but now it crashed to the front of his mind like a wave chipping at a stone cliffside. A spell of sudden dizziness forced Draco to clench the sides of his temples to stabilize the torrent of memories that assaulted him with their unrelenting force. Flashes of moments, undiscernible, yet familiar, poured down upon him like a hailstorm, and it took every ounce of control for him to not lose himself to the raucous chorus.

Pomfrey had long since abandoned him, retreating to the other side of the room to terrorize her other patients. Draco felt fortunate; the moment of privacy gave him time to collect himself as he came to the startling realization that he had travelled back in time.

It was too shocking to come to grips with, and he was left utterly dumbfounded because he was a student again. Draco had heard the cautionary tales of witches and wizards attempting to use the Time-Turner to travel several decades or even centuries back in time, resulting in their immediate death. Yet, he was in the infirmary, and all signs pointed to him being alive.

Not only was he alive, but he was younger too.

The massive changes in his weight and height made his movements feel unreal as he adjusted to his smaller frame. Draco was certain that Time-Turners weren’t supposed to replace a past version of their user with the one from the present; anyway, that was what he _did_ know—which was as little as the brain of a hippogriff. In reflection, using such a dangerous device without at least a laymen’s knowledge of its innerworkings was reckless at best and fatal at worst, making him not much better than a Gryffindor.

But now that he was in the past, what would he do?

Draco’s teeth chattered. He could try to get back to the present. However, his old life was unremarkable, and he would likely be served an arrest warrant and a harsh prison sentence when—or _if_ —he managed to return to his proper time. If he were honest, the idea of returning had lost its initial appeal like the consequences of gorging on a carton of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, but a boring existence and Azkaban wasn’t all there was to his life. What about the people he would be leaving behind?

Concrete settled into the pit of his stomach. Astoria, his wife-to-be. Their relationship had burned like a bright flame in the beginning of their courtship, but recently Draco’s persisting moods of oscillating misery and terse reticence had only isolated Astoria. The problem was that he was too entangled in the web of his past, and she had tried to give him a hand out. He wanted to be the man worthy of waiting for her to walk down the aisle, but he had stagnated as a person—too caught up in bitterness and regret to see the future.

It was almost ironic: him being haphazardly thrown into the part of his life that he couldn’t escape from years later. Draco laughed to himself. Thinking of his fiancé had opened a spiral of self-hatred, and lingering thoughts of ‘what could have been’ wouldn’t give him the motivation or inspiration that he needed to turn into action.

Back at the Manor, he rarely got correspondence from his parents as they vowed to spend their post-war lives together on the continent rather than face the scrutiny of Britain’s wizarding public, and Draco couldn’t say that he blamed them. His father had gone slightly mad from his time in Azkaban, and his mother wasn’t the worse for wear, but she had her fair share of demons just like anyone who had crawled through hell. If Draco could spare them of their fate in this time, then going back would give his life meaning…even purpose. He wasn’t a good person by any measure, but the least he could do was save his parents, right?

Steadying his resolve, Draco searched for a place to start—which would probably be finding _when_ in time he had landed. Judging by the giant green _‘POTTER STINKS’_ pin that rested atop his school uniform, he could make a decent guess.

He was about to pilfer through his schoolbag to find the exact date on a homework assignment when he was interrupted by a rude boy. “I guess you’ll never change, Malfoy, but that’s only to be expected when you always choose to flee like a slimy rat to the sewer.”

Draco didn’t need to turn around to know who that loathsome voice belonged to—it was the same person whose shadow Draco had dwelled in since their first meeting.

A Cheshire smile curled its way onto Draco’s lip, “Don't you know, Potter? When cornered, even a rat can kill with a single bite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of sad that I didn't get to write much of Harry's and Draco's dynamic, but 'all good things come with time' or something (like next chapter *wink*) However, I did want to explore more of Draco's mental turbulence before jumping into the fun stuff.


	3. There Can Be No Community Between You and Me; We Are Enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shortened the title to something more reasonable, and I guess it's okay. More importantly, Draco and Malfoy exchange more than two lines of dialogue!!! σ(≧ε≦ｏ)

“Don't you know, Potter? When cornered, even a rat can kill with a single bite.”

Piercing green eyes narrowed, accompanied by the slight downturn of Potter’s mouth. Everything from a muscle twitch to the slightest facial change was burned into Draco’s mind in the following silence as he tried to determine if Potter knew his secret.

Logically, if Potter was in the infirmary, he had likely been admitted as a patient. Whether Potter had been injured in an innocuous accident or—by merlin’s pants—he had miraculously been dragged along with Draco and the Time-Turner, remained to be seen. Either way, Draco would play dumb, not giving up his rouse while he made Potter sing like a canary.

Putting on his most Slytherin smirk, he said, “What’s wrong, Potter? Rat got your tongue?”

“Cut the shit, Malfoy, this is serious.”

Those eyes were livid and promised a hail of fury if they were messed with, but Draco had seven years’ worth of experience under that glare. He’d be damned if he succumbed to its intensity now.

“You’re right, Potter. This _is_ serious. Afterall, it’s not every day that the champion’s loyal weasel and bush-tailed girlfriend aren’t chasing after him like crups in heat.”

The metal frame of Potter’s cot screeched against the floor as he launched straight for Draco, taking no time to close the distance between them. His hands in Draco’s collar shook with forced restraint, and his face was twisted into a vicious snarl, his teeth snapping together and echoing in the stone hall.

“Don’t fuck with me, Malfoy,” Potter’s low growl sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

Going white in the face while his heart pounded like a hammer against his ribcage, Draco recalled the cold feeling of lying on the bathroom floor, blood pooling around him as the world went dizzy; he knew he was dying. Draco prayed to Circe that there wouldn’t be a reenactment.

Keeping his face smooth and calm, Draco hide behind a practiced smile. “Maybe you should consider the setting, Potter,” he said through thin lips.

Momentary awareness widened Potter’s eyes as he surveyed the area around him, loosening his chaffing grip on Draco’s clothes in the process. By sheer idiotic luck afforded to only Gryffindors, Pomfrey had taken a break in her office, and the only other potential witness to Potter’s little fit was peacefully sleeping the day away in a dark corner.

“Now, if you would please remove your filthy paws from my person, we can both forget about your embarrassing tantrum for propriety’s sake,” Draco said with a stern gaze.

Reluctantly taking him at his word, Potter removed his gangly limbs from Draco’s newly mangled and ruined sweater. Puffing out a hot breath of air and crossing his arms with self-righteousness, Potter said, “Are you done pretending like nothing happened, or are you going to continue being a total prig?”

This time, a genuine grin worked its way onto Draco’s face, “I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”

Running a hand through his disheveled mop of hair, Potter sighed, “Save it for a fool, Malfoy. You know as perfectly well as I do that we don’t belong _here_ ,” his stiff arm gestured to the ill-defined space around them, “Or more like belong _now_.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter’s dramatics.

“Listen, Malfoy,” Potter said through gritted teeth, “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, or if there even _is_ any thinking going on in that rotten head of yours, but _you_ can’t stay here.”

Draco’s patience snapped like a bone. “ _I_ CAN’T STAY HERE!” Draco shouted, not caring who overheard as a he clenched his fists.

The vindictive part of his mind locked into place, and he spoke in a deadly whisper as he stared down his pointy nose at Potter, “Tell me, _why_ can’t I stay, Potter? Is it because I was a Death-Eater?” he showed his stark, naked forearm, yet untainted by his gravest sin. “Is it because we _despised_ one another? _Tormented_ one another? Beat _the shit_ out of one another, and you don’t trust me? Well, I hate to break it to you, ‘Chosen One’, but _I’ll_ do whatever the _BLOODY HELL_ I like!”

“ALRIGHT,” Potter yelled putting up his hands in appeasement. Draco stopped his tirade to take a deep breath, and Potter pushed his glasses back up his nose, “I’m sorry, Malfoy. I phrased that wrong.”

Draco could only blink, did his ears hear that correctly? Potter exhaled, “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, especially not about you as a person, and I’m sorry that I blew-up on you in the first place."

He shuffled his feet, "And you're right about our rivalry ending years ago, and I may have judged the person you were, but I cannot judge the person you are now. This whole situation isn’t doing my nerves any good, and that is in no way an excuse or justification for my behavior, but if you could,” he looked like he was choking on a dirty sock, “I’m not asking for forgiveness or to erase our history, but I would appreciate your patience and maybe even your cooperation as we both try to navigate this..." he waved his hand in the air like it would give him the answer, "conundrum.”

Potter raised a brow in challenge, setting his face in stone as he was probably expecting to be rejected. Draco couldn’t lie; the temptation to throw Potter’s proposal back in his face was overwhelming, and there virtually wasn’t any reason for him to agree, _per se_. But a small part of him—the little boy before his hand had been abandoned by the famous Harry Potter—wanted this…whatever _this_ was. What had Nott said? Did Draco believe in second chances?

With a quivering sigh that made his shoulders slump, he took the dive and extended his hand.

Green eye’s widened. A faint smile warmed Potter’s face as he tentatively took Draco’s hand in his, “I was scared you would say no.”

“I almost did,” Draco said, his honesty surprising himself.

Potter huffed, “If it makes a difference, I’m glad you didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This small victory is only a battle in the war ahead. Draco's and Potter's goals are, ultimately, at odds with one another🙃. Can they amend the seven year rift between them? Can they even get back home? How will Draco and Harry react to canonically dead characters being alive? And, of course, will their fragile truce grow into something more?
> 
> If anyone's reading this, I hope you're as hyped as I am!


End file.
